


What we've lost

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Minor Character Death, Miscarriage, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 04:36:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7494033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is set in the later books, TWOW and ADOS. It follows events as outlined in the show so far (SPOILERS FOR BOOKS AND SHOW), but the characters are more or less as they appear in the books. <br/>Sandor Clegane has joined the Starks at Winterfell as their sworn shield. The Wildlings, under the rule of Tormund Giantsbane, have taken up residence in and around the keep. Although most of the major houses in the North have pledged themselves to House Stark, there are still those loyal to House Bolton. As the impending battle draws near, Sansa Stark, Petyr Baelish and Tormund send out for favours from anyone and everyone they can think of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What we've lost

Morra crested the hill well ahead of the rest of her company, halting her hulking flaxen gelding despite the wind that threatened to freeze her very bones. Bracken shook beneath her, attempting to rid himself of the fine sleet seeping into his coarse hair. The road ran more or less straight ahead, up to a black iron portcullis set into a high stone wall. Two men armed with crossbows watched over the gateway, while another score milled about before the wall, digging fresh trenches and sharpening stakes.  
“Fuck this fucking weather!” Saeka announced her presence. Morra had tried to teach her Westerosi on the way here, but she only seemed to remember how to swear, moan, and insult people. She reverted to Dothraki. “Is that it?”  
“Seems so.” Morra replied idly, watching the lookouts, who seemed to have spotted them.  
“Winterfell.” Saeka mused, examining the castle. “Not as big as I expected.”  
“Hmmm.”  
Big Lorro came up behind them with the wagon, Freya and Dom hunched in the back enjoying a chilly silence. Both of their horses had bolted when they failed to tie them properly at a tavern, and they had been stuck in the wagon for days, straining their already-tenuous relationship. Cold Seb brought up the rear, scratching at his eye patch as he did whenever he was anxious.   
“We fucking made it.” He mumbled, half to himself. “One more day with those two squabbling and I might've stuck ‘em myself.”  
Seb had a habit of smiling at the wrong time, and now he was grinning at Freya and Dom like he had sung their praises. They glared back.   
“Just get me into a bath!” Saeka moaned, pulling at her jerkin. True enough, they all stank.  
“Gladly.” Seb responded with a wink, causing her to blush. Morra wondered if they had started fucking on the boat or before, but she was glad not to have to spend another night pretending to sleep while they wriggled about under their blankets.  
“Are we going down?” Lorro eventually asked. “I'm starving.”  
“You're always starving.” She retorted, fixing her eyes back on the wall. One of the guards had gone. The other had his sight fixed on them. “Just a little longer. They've spotted us and I want to see how they react.”  
The guard was back, another man at his heels. The newcomer - barely more than a boy - leaned over the parapet to scrutinize them. Morra raised her hand in what she hoped was a friendly gesture of greeting. Dom made to copy her but Freya slapped his hand out of the air. To her relief the Lord Stark returned the gesture.  
“Come on.” She said, nudging her horse on.  
The Lord and watchmen kept their eyes fixed on the small company as they descended the hill and tramped up toward the gate. When they came close enough the men raised their crossbows; uploaded, but the meaning was clear.  
“Afternoon my Lord Stark -” Morra began.  
“Snow.”  
“I'm sorry?”  
“My name is Jon Snow, not Stark.” he elaborated. “And you must be the only person in the Seven Kingdoms who doesn't know that.”  
“Well we haven't come from anywhere in the Kingdoms.” She admitted. “So I hope you'll forgive me.”  
“And where have you come from with such an…” he cast a glance over all of them. “Interesting company?”  
“Oh...across the sea.” She waved her hand vaguely east.  
“Braavos?”  
“No.”  
“Meereen?”  
“No.”  
“Qarth?”  
“No.”  
“Where the buggering hells from then!” One of the guards snapped.  
“What my dear Morra meant to say,” Big Lorro answered. “Is that we come from the sea. A ship on the sea, to be exact.”  
Lord Snow’s grip on the stone tightened. “Pirates!”  
Morra winced, and Lorro hunched in his seat, realizing his mistake.  
“Off with you!” The man bellowed. “Before my men stick you full of holes!”  
Sure enough, the two guards fixed bolts into their weapons with a loud click.  
“Wait!” Morra dropped her reins and raised her hands in surrender. The rest of her company followed suit. “We received a raven from my uncle, requesting support and weapons. The weapons are in the cart…” She nodded to it. “...And we'd like to be the support. We're only six but each of us is the measure of ten of your men!”  
“Ten?” Saeka muttered.  
“Shut up!” She hissed back.  
Snow cocked an eyebrow at her. “And who sent for you?”  
“My uncle.” She answered. “Tormund. Tormund Giantsbane.”  
A thing smile played at the lad's lips. “I'll tell him you've arrived...Morra, wasn't it?”  
“Yes. Morra the Swift.”

She left her destrier and companions behind to follow a twitchy guard through the courtyard and into the main keep. He brought her to an audience chamber, where the Lord and Lady were already seated with a handful of other nobles. When he saw her, her uncle left his place to trap her in a tight embrace.  
“I only half hoped you'd still be alive.” He whispered. “Alive and still roving about in that damned ship your brother told us about.”  
“It's good to see you too, uncle.” She said. “I only half hoped you were alive. Alive and still following lords and kings about when you should be rest by the fireside.”  
Tormund’s laughter boomed across the hall. “And of course nothing could still that tongue of yours!” He chuckled, clapping her on the back hard enough to make her spine vibrate. He turned her to the said, where the Lord and his people were politely sitting by.  
“My Lord Snow. Lady Stark.” He announced. “Allow me to present my vagrant niece, Morra the Swift.”  
“A pleasure, Lady Morra.” It was Lady Stark who spoke. “We welcome you to Winterfell.”  
She found herself fidgeting under the scrutiny of a girl half her age and righted herself. “Just Morra, please, My Lady. Thank you. I'm glad to be of any assistance that I can.”  
“How many men have you brought?” One of the older men asked abruptly.  
Morra flushed. “Six, including myself.”  
“Six!” The man scoffed, throwing his hand up into the air. It was then she noticed that he was missing a considerable chunk of one. The Halfhand. “Well that evens the odds!”  
“Now, now, Milord,” Her uncle interjected. “If they're half the fighter my niece is, you'll be glad of them.”  
“I suppose you'll support her claim that she's worth to what -” Lord Snow didn't hide his smug smile when he looked at her this time. “What was it she told me...ten of ours.”  
She heard a snort in the following silence, and her attention was drawn to the man standing behind Lady Stark’s chair. She had not taken notice of him before, lurker in the shadows as he was, but now she wondered how she had ever overlooked him, huge as he was. He was dressed in plain armour, with a greatsword strapped to his back. A fall of dark hair obsured his face, but even as she looked he raised his head to pin her with sharp grey eyes. And then there was that scar - the twisted mass of flesh covering almost the complete left side of his face. He scowled, no trace of laughter in his expression, and she remembered herself.   
“We may not be much,” She said to the Lord. “But we can fight, don't doubt that for a second My Lord. And we're at your service.”  
His smile softened, and Jon Snow nodded. “I meant no disrespect, My Lady. Your help is appreciated. As are the weapons you've brought us.”

“How long before they come?” Saeka asked, peeling herself away from the wall as Morra left the chamber. The guard stationed nearby jumped.  
“Three days at most.” She answered. “Where are the others?”  
“In the kitchens begging for scraps. I asked them to save some for us.”  
“Best hurry, anyway.”  
Sure enough, they found the others gathered around two large platters piled with dried meat, fruit, cheese and bread, filling the kitchen with their noise. The workers didn’t seem to mind, however, especially the two girls being appraised by Lorro, who had forgotten about his stomach for once.   
Morra filled them in on her meeting with the Lord and Lady as she helped herself to the food and wine. She told them as much as she could remember, but her thoughts kept straying back to the man guarding the Lady's back. Was he just a guard? Or a lover? Even with the burns he was a fine creature, large as a -  
“Morra?” Freya’s voice snapped her out of her reverie. The others were at the door, the last of the meal finished. “Are you coming?”  
“Yes, of course. Sorry.” She hurried after her.  
“Did anything else happen?” Freya narrowed her golden eyes at her.  
“No of course nothing…” She trailed off as they stepped out into the courtyard, and the Lady's guard strode past. He took one look at her and let out a short snigger. She watched until his cloak disappeared round a corner.  
“I see.” She had forgotten Freya was there.  
“See what?” Morra blinked, refocusing on her friend.   
“I see what I see every time you spot a nice morsel.” Freya rolled her eyes.  
“OI!” Dom called across the yard. “Hurry up, they need more hands at the trenches!”


End file.
